


I Want You Hopeless

by Anonymous



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Crying, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Slapping, armie is not nice, i may continue this possibly, poor timmy, this is not a feel good fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Armie wants to ruin Timmy.





	1. Chapter 1

“Is this how you fuck Elizabeth?”

Timmy asks him, it comes out pointedly snarky through his panting, heaving, sore mouth as Armie rucks up his shirt hastily. They’re shoved into the guest closet of Armie’s house, it was Armie’s decision. _As always_

_I can’t fuck you in my wife’s bed, Armie had told him earlier, just right after Elizabeth had took off for the day to spend lunch with her mother._

Her Gucci outfit had looked to prim on her, snobbish in an unattractive way. Not that Armie doesn’t love her in a sense, it’s just continually living with such a picture perfect chasing wife Armie falls behind. She’s all forced grins.  An avid commentator on all drama going on in her pretty botox plump two faced girl friend’s lives, the type of mother who doesn’t allow their children to play because their designer clothes are more important to her than their childhood. Armie does love her in a sense, and wants them to work, right?

_Yes_

Of course, what would he be in Hollywood without her? An estranged father whose career is mostly indie movies? He’d turn to drinking no doubt. Then he’d be just another Shia Labeouf, an actor where all good is forgotten and all the controversy starts taking control. Elizabeth keeps his pieces in place. He’s the canvas that she paints the public a picture of, a good, loving father with a classy long legged wife with children so proper it’d make the queen proud. Elizabeth is the sole reason his image remains polished.

Armie grins slowly, it’s predacious, tinged with the venom he wants to take out on Timmy with. Timmy, oh Timmy, he knows how to press _all_ of Armie’s buttons.

He leans over, overtaking the remnants of light from casting down on Timmy’s curly shampoo kissed locks.

He can just imagine how they look, how he looks, he wants to look like a monster. A monster out for blood.

He wants to ruin Timmy.

He sees the beautiful innocence in his eyes twisting with fear, tinging his faint sarcastic smile to unease.

Armie loves it.

He wants to see him scared, terrified, screaming.

He wants to watch the innocence rip out through his chest, crawl away and leave behind broken pieces of a boy who thought he had the world.

Timmy’s so new to the industry, so hope filled and so full of inviting life. That’s why the directors love him. His innocence betrays him, lets out all the emotion he fails to hide. Armie loathes with jealousy. Armie hates it. It makes him want to watch Timmy cry. He wants Timmy to feel as broke down, stuck as he does.

Armie just turned 31, the possibility of being the it-boy flew past his hands before he had the chance. Timmy’s so young, so pretty, doll-like eyes with that androgynous jawline that confuses the masses to adore him, love him, who could not?

Armie wants front seat access to watch the boy discover a world so cold.

He jolts him forward by his belt loops, one swift tug and skinny hipbones jut against the flat top of his hand.

“No, Timmy. This is how I fuck whores,” Armie states bluntly, watching Timmy glance up at him like that. Like Armie’s god himself and any and every word takes control of his being, like Armie could somehow break him verbally.

Timmy looks dumbfounded, for _once_ , Armie thinks bitterly. Those big green eyes flittering like a scared bug at Armie’s features. He looks like bambi’, a scared little dear fearing for its life.

_For mercy_

Timmy looks nervous now, mouth twitching as he itches the back of his neck, Armie knows all his signs.

“Let’s do this somewhere else-“ Timmy says, going to turn.

_Like he has the damn right_

Armie grips his arm like he owns him, forcing him flat against his chest, it’s a quick struggle of messy long legs before Armie can grasp purchase under that bony ass of his, lifting him with ease. He presses Timmy’s back flush against the beige wall, right next to a row of Elizabeth’s fancy Louis Vuitton dresses, Timmy’s shoe brushes a pale white one, Armie doesn’t blink an eye.

“Did you forget who makes the rules?” Armie whispers, grip tight, the words come out in a gentle tone but the threat is still rock solid his crotch. His hips are nestled comfortably between the inviting warmth of Timmy’s crotch, his body heat soaking through the threads. Armie leans forward, teeth and tongue faint against the soft white shell of Timothee’s ear, _teasing_.

He pulls back, just two inches from those smooth porcelain perfect features.

Green eyes almost going cross eyed from the extreme close proximity as he stares back at Armie. Timmy’s lashes brush his cheeks with every quick blink, his bottom lip softly dropped, awed but all Armie can think about putting his cock in there, just to see Timmy’s lashes build with tears as he chokes on it.

Timmy down on his knees would be the most beautiful sight. His long hair just perfect for Armie to thread his fingers in, pull till Timmy accepts taking the full length of him, those plush, perfect peach pink lips bruised and slick with cum, that tight throat allowing Armie to claim.

Timmy doesn’t say anything in return which is surprising. He always has something to say.

Armie doesn’t know if he likes the silence or not. He’s not sure whether he wants Timmy to start fighting or submitting. Timmy appears to be doing the latter.

“Take off your clothes,” Armie tells him, letting him drop down to the floor on his feet.

Timmy looks unsure, emotions indistinguishable as they play out upon his features.

“But that’s all you want,” Timmy states, avoiding eye contact and staring at their tiled flooring like he’d never seen that shade of ocre before.

Armie touches under his chin, forcing him to look up, he looks so scrawny from where Armie stands. The five inches between them seemingly appears to be a foot with their body curve differences. Timmy’s all small, narrow shoulders and chest, he’s just a tad softer at the hips but with equally thin long, long model esque legs. Armie however is tall, built like a brick wall sealed with concrete. He’s stocky in all the right places that get thirty year old women to make online forums to discuss him like they care about anything more about him than his cock and standard handsome face.

Timmy’s undeniably pretty, so pretty that Armie wants to hit him. He wants to cast marks upon the slight baby fat in his cheeks, he wants to smack him till he cries for more. Until Timmy starts pulling Armie’s hand against his throat, begging like a broken-in whore to abuse him some more. To claim and to own every inch of his delicate skin that has never been hurt more than an unintentional scrape.

“Are you not obeying?” Armie asks, like it’s a question even though it’s a statement.

Timmy shakes his head, “I am, I just-“

Timmy’s eyes are glossy as he looks at him, red tinged like he’s about to cry.

“I want it to mean more than just, .. sex.”

So innocent, such Timmy, Armie nearly laughs. Instead he grins, it’s joy, sinful and perverse. He’ll have so much fun with him.

He’s fucked Timmy once before, it was just days before their last day of shooting and Timmy had knocked on his hotel door, eyes rimmed watery and head low. He said he’d been homesick but Armie could tell otherwise. Armie’s not stupid, he’s have to be blind not to see the lovesick puppy eyes Timmy sends him when he’s not looking. He’s seen it out of his peripheral one too many times to think it was anything of coincidence.

So he had let Timmy in, of course, Elizabeth was no longer visiting and home in LA with the kids. It was a safe bet. A win win situation. He coerced Timmy to lie down but it was Timmy the one who instead climbed into his lap like a cat. Just like the scene they shot in the movie but much more wanting. Armie was decently gentle with him then, he tested the waters and before he knew it he was deep within Timmy. Timmy was so accepting, so gracious, his apparent virginity didn’t need to be vocalized, Armie could tell the way Timmy scrunched his face up and wept silently for the first couple seconds, all while Armie enjoyed the feeling of tight pure submissive pleasure that he’d hadn’t experienced with Elizabeth in a long while.

“Of course it’s more than sex, you’re my little angel,” Armie promises, it’s so easy playing cat and mouse with Timmy. He’s so intelligent and gullible at the same time, it’s astounding what precocious innocence can do.

Timmy lights up genuinely even though he tries to hide it, and nods with a tiny soft smile blushing into his cheeks. He submits to Armie’s wishes and begins undoing his jeans, letting them collapse down his frail legs without much effort. Pale, moon cream white skin exposes itself. Pink lines are left on his jutted hips from the dig of the denim. He looks pretty fey in just his blue and white striped designed t shirt and short black boxers shaping out his thighs.

“Shirt,” Armie states, like he’s ordering him to remove it but goes to yank it off anyways.

He’s on him in seconds, taking strides towards him until Timothee’s smacks his spine against the doorframe, his nose buries itself in rose petal scented hair and his hands press flat against the ribs of the door, caging Timmy in.

“You want it?” Armie questions, purposely digging his hard outlined cock into Timmy’s tender flat belly. Timmy looks hypnotized, like he’s not sure to look down at the swell of Armie’s cock or up at Armie’s face.

Timothee’s gulp is audible, he nods shakily, glancing up at Armie with saucer wide starlet eyes.

“Be gentle though…” he whispers, “you’re really big.”

Armie sighs, pecking his head like he would to a child. “Gentle is boring, Timmy, you aren’t a kid, you’re just starting to learn how to take it.”

Timmy shakes his head, pouting, “but I can’t get used to it If you’re too rough.”

 _Being rough will break you in, make you my toy_ , Armie thinks but doesn’t say.

“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” Armie tells him lowly, he asserts the situation by covering Timmy’s entire ass cheek in his palm, gripping it like John’s do to girl’s who are named ‘Candy’ at strip club’s.

Timothee whimpers, his own erection pressing up right below the heft of Armie’s.

“Want me to touch you?” Armie hisses into his ear, cupping the whole handful of Timmy’s aroused cock, the precum has leaked through the front seam of his boxers.

“Fuckin’ wet,” Armie groans, grabbing Timmy by the hip and shoulder and forcing him to fall backwards.

They smack soundly onto Elizabeth’s thick wool Persian rug, Timmy letting out a gasp from the impact. He clutches at Armie’s back with dull fingernails pressing blunt against sharp shoulder blades. Armie settles his hips between Timmy’s, forcing them wider easily. Timmy’s palm bumps between their stomachs as he slides it down to grasp at Armie’s bulging boxers.

Armie grits his teeth, fucking _harlot_.

“You want this so bad, huh?” Armie proves by grinding his hips down between Timmy’s wanton legs, watching Timmy’s face morph into clear pleasure. “You can’t resist me even if you tried,” Armie points out arrogantly, biting down on smooth ivory flesh. Timmy arches his neck into the bite, taking everything Armie willing to give.

“Please, Armie, please-“ Timmy whines, his faint choked breaths getting caught in his frail birdcage chest.

Armie already knows what he wants, Armie is even more eager to take.

He rips down the cottony silk boxers in a haste of not caring if he ruins them completely. Timmy’s cock is smaller than his own which comes to no surprise. He’s bubblegum pink in the splay of his legs. Just as perfect as the first time Armie got to treat himself to such a young, tight and willing body.

“You got lube?” Armie asks, being generous, if Timmy says no he’s just going to fuck him raw on spit. That’d be a sight of watching him ache for days.

“Mhm,” Timmy hums, absentmindedly reaching for it out of his discarded balled up jean’s pocket, he checks the second side when the first is empty. He pulls out a mini pink bottle, bingo.

It’s half empty, is all Armie notices.

“You use that a lot by yourself?”

It’s drenched in sickening jealousy. Armie hates the slip up.

Timmy blushes, moving his gaze to their chests, “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” Armies voice is cold, any former playfulness evaporated.

Timmy shrugs.

A flame ignites inside Armie.

He seethes at the thought of anybody, any other guy getting the chance to claim him. It makes Armie want to rip hell through every over priced Mormon appearing dress Elizabeth owns in the room.

His fingers bite rough into Timmy jaw, making him gasp. He shoves Timmy’s head up, making Timmy tilt his head back so he can have more room to suck hickeys into his neck like a rabid dog marking its territory.

“Ow!” Timmy hisses as Armie bites down harshly, digging the sharp edge of his teeth till there’ll be no doubt of left over scratch like marks.

“You’re mine.”

The threat is heavy. Timmy looks small.

“I’m yours,” Timmy agrees, blissfully shutting his eyes and letting his legs fall lax.

“I own you,” Armie assures, running a large flat palm up Timmy’s entire lithe thigh, “I own this, I own everything on you.”

“Say it,” Armie orders.

Timmy eyes are half lidded, mouth parted with quiet breaths, “Yours,” he whispers, throat dry and eyes twinkling with heavy lashes.

The smack is harsh in the subtleness of their breaths.

Timmy’s eyes are shock filled and scared, for once true fear. His cheek already pinkening, it makes Armie’s dick twitch.

Armie kisses his swollen cheek, and drags down Timmy’s bottom lip with his rough callused thumb.

“Good boy,” he praises, voice gravelly and deep as he watches his creation of a submissive version of Timmy begin to take over.

Timmy whines brokenly.

“Daddy’s going to have fun with you,” Armie assures, watching Timmy through a steady gaze.

Timmy has tears in his eyes but there’s no words falling from his lips telling Armie to stop, maybe he can’t tell if he likes it. Armie loves it.

He raises his palm, smacking Timmy again, this time so hard that Timmy’s head whips to the side. Timmy lets out a surprised whimper but doesn’t scream or try to get away what so ever.

“Shit,” Armie smirks, palming Timmy’s swelling cheek and shifting him back straight, “you take it so well.”

Timmy whimpers softly, bottom lip quivering. He looks like he’s about to start begging for no more.

_That just won’t do._

Armie pulls his cock out the opening in the front of his Versace boxers, the dripping wet tip bumping Timmy’s balls, he guides it to rub right at Timothee’s gentle, fluttering opening.

Timmy lets out a shuddery breath, his thighs trembling around Armie’s hips.

Armie uncaps Timothee’s used lube bottle, drizzling a good amount to slick up his cock with. He sighs contently as he grasps his hot, heavy heated flesh, Timmy’s hole teasing and warm, basically begging to be filled with how smooth Timothee had shaved it.

“Ready for my cock, _slut_?”

Timmy barely blinks before Armie decides to push the head in. Timothee mewls brokenly, wanting a moment to adjust.

“Stop acting like a virgin when your body’s taking me like a needy whore,” Armie complains, hiking Timmy’s legs up his waist and driving into him like he would to a prostitute.

Timmy yelps, clawing at Armie’s back, and whispering soft words Armie tries to fully tune out.

The soft echoing of pleas come out Timmy’s throat and Armie doesn’t feel bad at all. He feels powerful.

~~~~~

He fucks Timmy until Timmy’s full on sobbing, he’s not fighting him but he may as well be.

He cums in Timmy with a grunt, releasing that tiny throat from Armie’s predatory grip that he held on for so long it left white finger print marks.

Timmy’s crying, shaking and full of cum and yet Armie doesn’t feel a smidge better. _No, not at all_

If anything he feels worse.

Timmy looks at him through exhausted eyes. Dead. They look fucking dead and his tears are slow but steady. His lips dry. Cracked.

He gets up and dusts himself off, not looking back because he can’t as he says “you can show yourself to the door.”

Armie tries not to think about Timmy whispering repetitively “I love you” as Armie fucked him like he was trash.

He tries not to think about Timmy looking broken because of him.

He tries to bury the sinking feeling in his gut that he might’ve actually ruined him this time.


	2. Hate to Feel

Timmy comes over the next day, thanks to whatever dark demon curse Armie’s trapped in. Of course it’d be a perfect idea for Timmy to have dinner with them, of course, thanks to Elizabeth and her splendid ideas.

It’s awkward to say the least. Armie barely lifts his eyes up from his plate until he’s almost finished his carrots, half his steak and all his mashed potatoes. They make eye contact immediately, Armie clenches his teeth as his gaze takes in the filthy underlying look beneath Timmy’s messy demeanor.

His cheek has a fresh purple bruise, Armie hardens to a semi once he sees it. All he can think about is the fact that he caused it. He slapped Timmy so hard that Timmy’s left with proof of it. Pure sore proof underneath his skin blooming like a flower of Armie’s abuse; Armies starkly proud, Timmy wears it like an accessory. Armie just wants to dig his thumb into it, watch to see if Timmy’ll squirm or press into it, mewl softly like the whore he is under his precocious facade.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Armie gasps, fake, it’s just to be an asshole. The struggle to hide a smirk is one of the hardest things Armie’s ever succeeded in. His lips still give a wanting twitch of interest.

Timmy’s eyes flick with something. Maybe disbelief, maybe tease, Armie can’t tell, so he pops a pea in his mouth and watches.

“I, uh-“ Timmy begins, tucking a messy dangling strand behind his cute little ears, it’s no use, flopping back onto his eyebrow within two seconds.

“He accidentally ran into a fan,” Elizabeth supplies, looking up innocently, completely clueless on the truth. If only she knew, Armie thinks. Hell would break loose on earth, their children might even hear a curse word for once, Armie thinks bitterly.

“Damn,” Armie hums, acting surprised, “your luck’s not so green after all,” he says, holding Timmy’s eyes with a sly smile playing on his lips. He swigs his rum, proud.

Timmy blinks, cheeks turning red, mixing with the purple, fuschia pretty. Armie wants to make them redder. He wants Timothee’s mouth to match, red, raw and swollen; lax and used to abuse, from Armie’s palm, his fingers, his cock.

“I guess so,” Timmy says flatly, itching the back of his neck. His nerves are spiking. Armie can sense it like a wolf.

Elizabeth looks between them oddly, like she can tell the sudden awkward drop is unusual. She touches Armie’s hand, her groomed fingernails tickling his knuckles. He gives her a forced grin, closing his palm on top of hers. He’s supposed to feel butterflies right? He’s supposed to want her touch.

_He doesn’t_

_He doesn’t hate Elizabeth_

_He loves her_

_Her touch is dulling_

_It’s not the same as when they began dating_

_She was so beautiful_

_So electric_

_Then Armie discovered her truth_

_How snobby and pretentious she is_

_He loves her_

_Her fake perfectly white grin_

_Her scarily thin hands, the way she grasps him lovingly when their PR team snaps a ‘happy couple’ shot for the paparazzi’s_

_Her irritable snarl every time Harper plays with her friend Suzie and gets her dress dirty, that tsk of disapproval that she can’t help stop from leaving her lips_

_He loves her_

_Does he?_

_He doesn’t want to know_

He doesn’t notice she’s gone until he hears a clink of an empty bottle sounding in their kitchen’s trash can, he’s just staring off at Timmy’s fidgeting smooth hands. Armie can imagine a rope tied tightly around them, rawing the skin there into pink lines as Timmy fights to free himself. What a beautiful concept.

“Darling, excuse me. I’m going to make a run to Jason’s, we’ve seemed to finish off the Dom Perpignan,” she announces, the jingle of her keys clear in Armie’s ear drums. His dick thrums. _Pleased_

_Like she’d have anything better to do_

_Rich women drink and drink just to whine about the sorrows they don’t have_

Armie looks at Timmy, Timmy had already been staring at him. He looks nearly indescribable, cheeks pink and eyes blinking slowly at Armie. He reminds Armie of a kitten, small, and curious of the world.

Not that Timmy is small per se, he’s decently tall, but he’s petite, so thin that whenever he stretches his arms up above his head while shirtless Armie can see every single rib.

The front door makes a distinct soft clasp. Armie folds his hands together, staring straight forward at Timmy. He swears if he’d eyed him any harder he’d be able to read every fleeting thought going through Timmy’s wondrous mind.

“What’s up, Tim?”

Armie takes a sip of his rum. Timmy’s eyes are flickering. _Unsure_

Timmy puts his head in his heads, collapsing against the table with a tired sigh.

“I don’t know what this is,” Timmy admits, quietly. His demeanor is weak, the slight tremble to his shoulders remind Armie of a mouse skittering down a hole.

“What’s that?” Armie asks, toying with him. He finishes off his rum in one gulp, internally cringing at the sharp after taste.

Timmy flicks an annoyed look his way, “you know what, asshole.” He looks extra pretty as the curse rolls off his tongue.

Armie sucks in a breath, holding a smile back. It was a bad idea for Timmy to wear that sweater. Armie fucking loves that sweater on him, it’s charcoal threads still to every inch of Timmy’s skin; from his narrow bump of hips to the raised lines of his collarbones. It fits him like a second skin.

_Armie wants to rip it off_

Maybe even tie Timmy’s hands together with the arm sleeves. Armie wants to hang him for the ceiling like that.

“Do I?” Armie replies slickly, wishing he had the rum bottle closer so he could continue swigging nonchalantly just to piss Timmy off.

But he doesn’t, so he settles for a smirk and an empty glass.

Timmy makes the chair squeak against the marble as he scoots back, standing up, tall and pissy.

Just as Armie thinks Timmy’s going to leave Timmy doesn’t. He does the opposite. He drops the thin denim jacket that was loosely hanging off his elbows onto the diner chair and strides towards Armie like he’s about to get a good left hook in.

_Yet again_

_He doesn’t_

Timmy lifts a long slender leg over Armie’s lower half, clumsily climbing onto his lap. Armie swallows thickly, his gaze falling down to Timmy’s crotch as Timmy’s ass meets his semi.

 “Shit,” Armie hisses, trying not to let his whole exterior crack. He regains himself, smugly grabbing two handfuls of taut soft, small cheeks through the suede pants he _chose_ to wear over here. Timmy knew _exactly_ what he was doing when he picked them.

Timmy lets out faint jagged breaths, gripping for purchase onto the steadiness of Armie’s shoulders.

“What game are you playing at?” Armie whispers, letting go of the handful he had and gripping Timmy’s chin like somebody would to a bad, snarling dog. Armie’s craving to allow the fighting beast inside him to claw its way out.

Timmy lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, he clutches Armie’s wrist with both hands, slender moon pink fingers circling the tanned skin. The image itself makes Armie rock hard. It’s nearly exactly what Armie pictured. His perfect vision of Timmy; Timmy clutching at his hand like it’s the owner of his being, though, Armie’d prefer if Timmy was lying back in sheets, _white sheets_ , pure like him.

The seconds between them of just staring seem to stretch for an eternity. Timmy’s visible heaving of breaths, Armie sliding his hand down just a couple inches, circling that throat instead of his sharp chin. Timmy’s bowed in his lap, ass planted firmly on Armie’s erection. His back arched from how Armie’s leaning up in his space, forcing him back by the neck. His other palm steadily supporting his lower back, right in the smooth dips above his ass cheeks. Armie digs his nails into the tender rise on the top of Timmy’s ass cheeks, sliding temptingly below the suede and his boxers.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Timmy hisses in his ear, it’s edged with sarcasm and tease.

Armie hand twitches with the urge to hit him.

So he smacks his ass loud. _Hard_

Timmy lets out a whine, his hips shaking like he doesn’t know if to arch away from the hits or arch into it.

“What do you want?” Armie asks, baiting. Timmy’s glazed eyes looks like his lips are about to let out the pleas he tries to hold in. Timmy’s demeanor breaks so easily for him. Armie’s cock twitches in interest.

“I- uh,” Timmy exhales slowly, “whatever you want,” he says breathily, lids half open.

His mouth looks like a well-designed blow up doll, pink, plush and open. Greedy for something long, thick and heavy to own it, turn that pink skin creamy slick.

Armie rubs the bottom lip with a thumb, he sighs dreamily, “well, I really, really want to fuck you here. But I’ll settle for your pussy,” Armie whispers, groaning as he imagines the sweet tightness on him again.

Armie obviously knows Timmy doesn’t have a vagina, but the expression that shifts onto Timmy’s face is completely worth it. He looks insulted in a way, or bewildered, it’s beautiful.

Armie lifts him up under his hips easily, making Timmy jolt to clasp his long slender arms around Armie’s neck before he falls backwards.

“You’d think I’d let you fall?” Armie asks amusedly, dropping one supporting hand for good measure, proving to Timmy just how light he is. Or vice versa, how strong Armie is.

Timothee reddens, burying his face into Armie’s neck.

“Use me again,” Timmy whispers.

Armie will

Armie knows he will

Armie kisses his head, murmuring “good boy,” under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He decides to fuck Timothee on his and Elizabeth’s bed. The thrill is inviting, so is the sweet splay of Timmy’s supple thighs, so thin yet soft. Timmy’s full of surprises.

Armie barely set him down before he has two fingers shoved up inside him, wet with Armie’s spit.

“Fuck!” Timmy gasps out, neck arching and fingernails clawing at their silk bedding.

Timmy’s surely going to leave minuscule scratch marks on the bedding. It’s pretty much in the perfect shape it came in. Sex with Elizabeth is like calorie watching, you want to do it but is it really worth it? Their sex is completely vanilla, slow most the time too. It’s always “watch the new sheets!” and “did you hit our Tiffany lamp?”

He settles on his knees, shoving Timmy’s legs up till he’s fully bared open, his knees pliant against his chest like he was born to be in the position. Armie smirks, sly and through fog, whenever he’s with Timmy he gets like this. He gets to be the person he craves to be. He craves to dominate. To own. To make sure Timmy knows who’s in control.

Armie flicks his tongue over the inner part of Timmy’s thigh just to hear him squeak in surprise.

“You shaved for me again, huh?”

He doesn’t have to look to see Timmy rolling his eyes.

“Hair doesn’t grow back in that fast, but nice try,” Timmy says, snide like he has the right.

Armie grips his thighs bruisingly, licking into the soft pink furl of his hole with such fervor Timmy whimpers uncontrollably.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Timmy moans, sounding like a porn star overacting, but Armie knows Timmy well enough to know it’s genuine.

“Armie,” Timmy whimpers, it sounds broken and soft, like a hiccup he couldn’t control.

Armie smacks his right thigh harsh, “don’t call me that.”

Armie doesn’t want to acknowledge himself right now. All he wants to think about is the beautiful expanse of a bony boy in front of him, wanton and submissive under his every touch.

Timmy doesn’t say anything. A moan mixed with a sob erupting from his chest as Armie opens him up, sucking on his hole, tasting the soft scent of his sweat but mostly the lavender body wash he clearly uses.

“Flower boy,” Armie states, kissing Timmy’s cock.

Timmy moans, biting his lip and arching into it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Armie’s buried to the hilt. Timmy’s on his tummy, Armie’s blissfully eight inches deep into Timmy’s lube slick hole. Timmy’s arched like he’d never taken it before, gasps leaving his throat nearly inaudible. Maybe it’s the angle or the way Armie’s not fucking him fast. It’s slow, soul deep thrusts that shake the microscopic amount of fat on Timmy’s ass and thighs.

Armie’s heart aches oddly watching him. Armie hates that he idolizes him in a sense, that he’s truly amazed by the beauty this boy endlessly lets out, in his art of acting, his voice, his entire body, perfection of white flesh, unblemished from head to toe.

Timmy mewls like a cat, cheek mushed against the sheets and eyes closed, bottom lip dropped in panting breaths.

Armie leans down, catching the cold tip of Timmy’s ear with his teeth, gnawing at it for a second, releasing with a sound that reverberates like an animal’s growl.

“This is all I use you for,” Armie tells him promisingly, hips colliding sharply against Timmy’s soft bony ass. Armie digs his hand in bouncy brown curls, pulling till Timmy’s forced to arch into it.

Timmy makes a broken sound. Armie fucks in harder. As hard he can, deeper and deeper till Timmy’s nearly howling with whimpers.

Armie huffs, groaning low through every brush of Timmy’s velvet walls against the head of his cock. Inside Timmy he finds heaven, not that’d Armie would expect anything less from him.

He can see the full line of Timmy’s spine, little soft bumps of nobs in a vertical slope. Timmy’s hips look small too, bony and just soft enough that Armie can dig into fingers into them, watch it leave ghost white marks that change pink with time.

He pushes Timmy on his side, pulling out just to push back in to that tight space, Timmy’s lungs punch out an heavy exhale, his thighs twitching. If he had any meat on his bones they’d be jiggling, Armie twitches inside him at the thought. Not that Armie doesn’t like the thinness on him, he craves the petiteness that decorates his build. It makes Armie feel like a man when he fucks him, like he’s won a secret prize. All the blogs of teen girls thinking Timmy’s some sort of daddy is laughable, Armie proves it to be extremely false with every sound that echoes out of Timmy’s throat.

“Does it hurt?” Armie can’t help but ask, feeling Timmy’s knees quiver and his expression all scrunched up, wincing.

Timmy open his eyes half lidded. Armie doesn’t want to know what that look says. Something about it too romantic, Armie shuts it out.

“Yes,” Timmy whispers, clutching Armie’s hand almost lovingly.

Armie doesn’t know what it means.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Timmy’s letting out sounds like yesterday when they’ve fucked. Not full on sobs but close enough, like he’s being rubbed out raw.

Though Armie knows he’s not, if anything Timmy’s soaked. Lube and Armie’s pre-cum dripping down his thighs and balls, painting Timmy’s insides makes Armie feel so feral. So territorial, mine mine mine ringing off in his head. He craves to own Timmy inside out, his mind, his body, his thoughts. _Everything_

He also wants to know nothing at all about Timmy. He doesn’t want to know that dorky laugh. His stupid love for pistachios, his childlike curiosity in every fucking thing, he doesn’t want to know what Timmy’s favorite movies are. That he mistakened American Psycho for Psycho, that he loves every rap artist in NYC, that he always wishes he could’ve gotten good at skateboarding. He doesn’t want to know a thing.

All he wants to know is the splay of pale thighs, dark pretty hair and sweet plush lips. All the soft fleeting noises of Timmy he can only have temporarily, in quick, passing time.

Timmy arches back into it, getting a hand on his dick and Armie wants to yank it away but he doesn’t, he just shoves him face down. He longs to smack him but he can’t, not at this angle, so he grabs roughly at Timmy’s chin instead, twisting his face towards him. Armie kisses him aggressively, licking into his mouth as he feels Timmy let out a whine, shaking as he visibly cums into the sheets.

Armie’s breath hitches in his throat at the closing, vibrating tightness around him. His cock squelches around the wet heat as he shifts his angle, pressing so deep his balls smack Timmy’s peach flesh.

Timmy lies there lax, his breathing heavy but evening out. He sounds thoroughly fucked out. Armie cums to the thought of Timmy leaving like this, blooming bruises on his hips, Armie’s cum full inside his belly, clinging to his thighs with proof of who owned him, who fucked and claimed his body.

Armie hisses at the oversensitivity, sighing contently in Timothee’s ear as he pulls out of him, cum sliding out immediately of that raw, used, pink hole. _Glossy slick_

Armie uses two fingers to rub it back into him, pressing deep and curling them inside Timmy’s full hole, It’s just slick, slick and more wetness around his dry fingers, Timmy winces visually at the moving inside him.

“Please,” Timmy gasps, closing his thighs.

Armie’s lips turn to a faint, smug smile.

“Please what?”

Timmy looks at him blearily, like something inside him is on the edge of snapping. Armie doesn’t know what.

“Please hold me.”

It’s a plea, and Timmy doesn’t look sure he’ll get it.

Cuddle. That’s what Timmy wants.

Armie feels absolutely torn.

He wants to discard Timmy like trash at the same time he wants to pull that broken demeanor to his chest, caress him like an angel. _A precious being_

Armie grits his teeth, _manning_ up. _His mother’s distinct words haunting the back of his head_

“Get dressed Timothee, Elizabeth will be home soon,” he lets it exit his mouth coldly, distant. _Just how it should be_

Timmy looks defeated, knees and hips pink and quivering shoulders.

Every time Armie fucks him he ends up looking like a rape victim and Armie doesn’t know how to feel about it.

_Confliction_

_Confliction_

_Confliction_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you'd like me to continue! thanks.


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